


Glory, Glory

by Quarkitty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Play, Cannibalism, Graphic Description, Knife Play, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Thramsay - Freeform, dont call him snow, dont fuck a knife kids, feet play, just dont do it dont fuck your knives okay????, knife fucking, reek era ramsay bolton, seriously this is gross like dont even read it, theon has a booty confirmed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After taking Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy wants to celebrate his victory. He has spent too long in the shadow of the Starks and needs a fix, he needs a warm body to call him m'lord and worship him. Ramsay Snow, disguised as Reek/Heke, makes an offer and Theon lets his guard down. A re-telling of how Theon was captured by Ramsay Bolton, with added smut and punishments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory, Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warning tags on this. It's gross. A one-shot fic written to get the creative juices flowing for longer pieces.

Theon Greyjoy was dressed in his finest. Sitting at the long oak table he drew out a dagger, playing with it between his fingernails. He pushed back a cuticle, the blade skipped across his dry skin and cut a slice right above his knuckle. He flinched. Winterfell outside screamed. Closing his eyes, he pushed back his chair and took a deep breath. Glory, glory, where was the glory? His whole life, raised like a fatted steer, waiting for the Starks to put his neck on the chopping block, but now Winterfell was his. The casualties would not matter when his name would be passed down in song. Those miller’s boys wouldn’t matter once his name was in a whore’s throat.

He needed release in the most basic way. His body needed another’s. As if beckoned, a sweaty hand touched the back of Theon’s chair. He looked up. That man, what was his name, Reek? Well, it would not be glorious to fuck the stinking thing, but it would be something new. Reek picked up Theon’s bloody hand in his and lifted the knuckles to his mouth. Wrapping his lips around the knuckle, he sucked, eyes closed in bliss.

“M’lord, Winterfell is yours.” The man hummed, his spotty skin dull in the evening light. Ramsay Snow chuckled against Theon’s hand, dropping it into his lap. The poor child still did not know Ramsay’s identity. The cruel joke would be fun to unwind. Such naivety.

“Not yet it isn’t, but thank you for your words. Reek, was it?” Theon lifted the dagger and began toying with it again. The man stared, fixating on the sheen of the blade. He looked thirsty, dry lips cracked and aching.

Ramsay lowered his eyes in false respect. “You may. And if I may, m’lord, might I make an offer?”

“An offer?” Theon rubbed the skin of his thumb across the blade, small flakes of skin falling onto the table. “Is it gold, food, or something to scream in my bed?”

“The only true gods?” Ramsay japed. The salty little Kraken was so direct, so unlike other Northerners. He was more eager than a whore, easier than a corpse. The men laughed, a moment skipping between them. “I could offer my hands on your feet. If you please.”

Before the sentence was over, Theon began pulling off his boots. “A man who knows his place, is it?”

Ramsay Snow fell to his knees, nodding. “My place is at your feet, m’lord. I will hold the memory of servicing the heir of the Iron Islands well.” He helped take the heavy boots off of Theon’s feet and placed them next to the leg of the table. Theon closed his eyes, still rubbing skin against the dagger. The hall was warm, the natural heat of Winterfell running through the stone.  A woven tapestry behind Theon’s head showed a snowy forest with a direwolf family running through. Would it all come down, Ramsay Snow wondered, his hands working on Theon’s feet. He rubbed between his calloused toes, rubbing half circles on his heels. Theon’s skin was tough and blistering.

Letting out a self-indulgent chuckle, Theon arched his neck. “Reek, I’ve always wanted to fuck something pretty and loud in Lord Eddard Stark’s bed. Do you know how he spanked me? For every dishonesty. Robb would run amok around Winterfell, we would find trouble or it would find us. But for every folly or mishap, who do you think answered to the Lord of the house? Never the golden boy. No, never Robb. He was perfect and we all knew it.” Ramsay pushed harder into Theon’s instep, his large hands gripping harder. “Lord Stark would throw me over his knee and tell me it was for my own good. He hit hard and true, never warning me, always on my bare ass. It was humiliating.” He glanced down at Ramsay, cherishing his position. “Here’s a secret: I enjoyed the spanking. After every instance I’d run to the privy and touch my hard cock. When I got older I’d go to the brothel and call for the cheapest one. I didn’t need beauty to get off, I would just think of Lord Stark counting the spanks and it would do. I could turn her over and pretend.” Theon started laughing, shaking his head. “How pale do you think Robb Stark would go if he knew?”

Ramsay Snow smiled back. “We all have our secret depravities.”

“If you’re good I’ll tell you about the time Robb and I spent in the stables. It smelled of horse shit but—“ Before he could finish the thought, Ramsay reached up Theon’s inseam towards his hardening cock. “There’s no one in the chambers now, shall we?” Theon sheathed his dagger and grabbed Ramsay Snow by the roots of his long black hair and gave a tug. He was desperate, the man was not pretty. His nose was wide and his face was doughy and red. But he had a belly full of victory and a mind full of rakishness.

The two stumbled up towards Lord Eddard’s bedchamber, their feet tripping over one another. Ramsay kissed Theon’s cheek and neck with growing intensity, biting and growling. “Easy, easy,” Theon put a light hand on Ramsay’s neck to remind him who was in charge. He pushed open the heavy doors to the bedchamber and pulled Ramsay onto the bed, piled high with furs and pillows. It was warm and soft, it was safe. He unlaced his breeches and scanned the room. Was this glory? They had always called him a ward but he had his own word for it. Prisoner, whipping boy, shame.

Touching Ramsay on his stomach, Theon pressed his tongue into his mouth. He laid down on the bed and pointed at his erection, expectantly. “Show me what you can do with your mouth.”

Ramsay climbed on his knees towards Theon and dipped his head down. “M’lord, it is an honor,” he whispered against Theon’s hard cock, lips pursed and ready. With a noisy suck, he took Theon’s tip in his mouth and dragged his hot tongue across it, leaving bubbles and strands of saliva behind. For a few minutes he played slowly, little sucks, a few licks, never wholly choking on Theon. Gentle teasing, little coos of affection and hums from Theon’s chest, deep where glory was begging to let loose. Theon buckle his hips against Ramsay’s tongue. “I need to cum,” he moaned, biting his arm. He left teeth marks and drool. “Take me all, choke on me.”

“Who is in control?” Ramsay whispered.

Theon propped himself up on his elbows, dizzy from all his blood at one spot in his body. “Speak louder.”

“Who is in control here?” Ramsay smiled and raked his teeth across Theon’s cock. He winced and cried out in shock. Ramsay bit down, laughing. “Is it the poor lost boy who thought he could take Winterfell?” Theon started screaming, his arms flailing in the bed. He grabbed onto a fur and gripped it in his hands, palms sweating. He stared up at the stone ceiling. Drool and pale blood pooled in Ramsay’s mouth. He bit harder at Theon’s base, tiny droplets of blood peaked through skin.

Cursing and wailing, Theon beat on Ramsay’s back with balled up fists. It was like hitting a solid tree. There was no give there. Ramsay was massive and dense, nothing would get through. “Stop! Stop! Whatever you want I’ll give you, just stop!”

Ramsay grabbed Theon’s cock and squeezed. He gave it a small twist. The screams echoed. “I don’t want anything but what’s in front of me. What do you think you could give me?”

“ANYTHING!” Theon screamed. He kept punching, his fists pathetic and weak.

“I only want you, Theon Greyjoy.”

Ramsay stood above Theon and dug the heel of his foot into Theon’s navel, pushing him into the bed. He pulled back his leg and gave a swift kick.

Coughing, Theon saw white. He was bruised fruit, he was done. Whatever mistakes led him to his path, they were finished. It was a dead end. “Who are you?” He asked, barely able to think, let alone speak. Ramsay grabbed Theon’s head by his hair and pulled out strands by the roots.

“Guess.” Ramsay spat on Theon.

He gathered his remaining composure, brain racking for answers. Anything, anything, he could be anyone. Running through a list of minor houses and their allies, he could pinpoint nothing. There was only grey and blurs, just old sigils and names of towns that he had never been to. Helplessly, Theon shook his head, his mouth dry.

“I…I thought I knew, I don’t, I can’t,” he started to sob, curling his naked body up into itself. He was a boy still. There was no glory to be found here.

Ramsay pulled on Theon’s ear playfully. “I am the son of Lord Roose Bolton. My name is Ramsay Snow, and you will never forget it.”

Something clicked. “The Bastard of…”

Ramsay cupped Theon’s mouth and tutted. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.” He cooed, pressing a finger to his lip, shaking his head. “Oh sweet stupid prince. You have so much to learn. But I am a patient and kind teacher. Here. Let me show you something.” Theon’s eyes widened with fear. “This is what happens when you say _that_ word around me.”

In one smooth motion, Ramsay flipped Theon over on the bed. Reaching across him, Ramsay pulled out the dagger he was toying with earlier. It was solid and small, he gave it an inspection, weighing the hefty gold handle in his hands. A small kraken emblem on the hilt glinted. Pulling out the blade, Ramsay tested its sharpness. Not the best workmanship, it was dull in a few spots, but it would do for now.

“Please, please, what are you doing?” Theon wailed, tears running down his face. Snot dripped across his face and Ramsay wondered how he could have ever found the boy pretty. He was a mess, nothing but bravado and fine clothes.

Turning the dagger so the blade faced himself, Ramsay edged the blunt hilt towards Theon’s ass. The cold metal made him jolt.

“No flinching,” Ramsay demanded, wriggling the hilt of the unsheathed dagger into Theon’s ass. The boy wriggled slightly, gripping onto the furs, tearing out fistfuls with his shaky hands. “If you struggle, I will only enjoy it more. And, well, I can get quite caught up in my pleasures.”

Theon pressed his head into the furs and began to silently cry, his shoulders shaking with deep inhales. Ramsay fucked him raw with the dagger, pulling it out to admire the design of the knife and then plunging it back into him. He was dry and tight, never a good combination for the receiver. The knife was just too big for comfort, too cold and too hard. “Do you enjoy it, my Lord?” Ramsay said mockingly, pushing and pulling out the dagger faster now.

“Yes,” Theon lied, not sure what to answer. If he said no, what would happen? If he said yes, would he stop? “I enjoy it, I love it,” he wept, biting the furs to stop the pain. He could handle it, it would stop soon surely.

“I don’t want you to enjoy it,” Ramsay laughed. He removed the knife and turned the blade end to Theon, dragging it lightly across the backs of his thighs. “This was a punishment, remember? Or have you already forgotten?”

He ran the knife up Theon’s body, letting it run across his shapely shoulder blades and over the curve of his neck. For a man, he was quite a curvy little thing. His hipbones were wide and his ass was round and the fattest part of him. Ramsay inspected a brown mole on Theon’s shoulder, digging the blade under the skin. Theon howled, trying not to let out noise but failing. “This should come out,” Ramsay muttered, cutting down below the mole, digging it out. “Nasty things they can be.” It was tough to keep Theon still on the bed. He held him down with his free hand. “The more you squirm the harder this is, I thought I told you that.”

Theon nodded, gasping and coughing. The pain was unbelievable. Comparable to drowning, maybe, he reminded himself, trying to imagine the cooling spray of salt water. His wounds burned. Once Ramsay was done, he picked up the bit of skin and admired his work. “There’s a mole that will never bother you again,” Ramsay chuckled, feeling the underside of the skin. It was slick with blood, large globs of it ran down Theon’s back, cold against the bedchamber air. Ramsay shoved the bit of skin near Theon’s mouth. “Eat it, filth.” He demanded. Theon hesitated. “Eat it or I’ll punish you more.”

With another second to hesitate, Theon took a small bite of his own skin. It was rubbery and wet. The only thing he could taste was blood. He let it sit in his mouth for a moment. He would not chew it, it was small enough to swallow. Hoping his throat was wet enough, Theon gulped it down and felt it in his throat like a stone.

Ramsay shook his head, grinning. “I said eat. I did not say swallow like a whore. This is all about punishment and you are doing very, very poorly.” He picked the dagger up again. Resigned to his fate, Theon could not even scream. His ass was in pain and his body was battered and bloody. Whatever part Ramsay was looking to take, it was his now. It had never belonged to Theon, it was always Ramsay’s, since he was born, since was created.

“It’s yours,” Theon whimpered. “It’s all yours, take it all.”

“You’ll never forget my name Theon Greyjoy,” Ramsay grabbed Theon by the jaw and kissed his lips. They were soaked with tears. “But you will soon forget yours.”

The dagger was colder than Theon anticipated. It wedged between his cheeks, darting daringly near his hole. He stared at the furs on the bed, the colors all blurred with anxiety. Ramsay pushed the dagger’s blade slightly into Theon’s ass. He could feel a bit of blood run down his leg. Biting anything that would fit into his mouth to stop the wailing screams, Theon cried and screamed, muffling himself. Ramsay Snow did not go far and did not stay long, just long enough for the blade to cut Theon’s ass and turn him bloody. He pushed once more, savoring seeing a sharp blade fuck a man. It took all of Ramsay’s willpower not to push Theon down and fuck him with the entire blade. But he knew the limits of a man and he was not ready to turn his new plaything into a pretty corpse. No, not just yet. The glory had only just begun.


End file.
